


The Magnus Records 023 - Inselwald

by ErinsWorks



Series: The Magnus Records [11]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Magnus Records
Genre: AU: The entities are nice and the world is awful., Alternate Universe, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21999562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinsWorks/pseuds/ErinsWorks
Summary: In another world, where a bastard child runs off and discovers who she is, where Dark Forests become Bright Islands, where closure can be found in speaking with a statue... Perhaps Jon would contemplate making someone tea.Here at the Magnus Sanctuary, London we will find out.Start your interview. Share your hope.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: The Magnus Records [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1497773
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69





	The Magnus Records 023 - Inselwald

**MAG023** **– Resident N/A – “Inselwald”**

**KEEPER**

Test... Test... Test... 1, 2, 3.

I don’t know why I feel compelled to test this rig now that I’ve switched offices. All that’s changed is the room. I cannot explain what it is, but something about Sasha’s office just feels… Unsettling. 

Perhaps it’s the taxidermy she keeps mounted on the wall. Perhaps it’s the _ artist’s mannequins  _ that litter her working space. Perhaps it’s the portrait she keeps on her wall, of someone I cannot identify. In any case, I suspect that I will regret choosing Sasha’s office. But I feel that there is no circumstance in which choosing Tim’s office would not immediately result in him firing a hundred letters to HR about this being an  _ “unacceptable overreach as a boss”.  _ That, and I’ve accepted that Sasha is the only one of my Confidants willing to share a workspace with me... As reluctant as I am to share a workspace with her.

I am fairly certain that Martin  _ tolerates _ me. But his isolatory habits don’t seem like the kind of thing I should try to  _ push  _ through. I think all I can do at the moment... is build a bridge strong enough for him to feel comfortable walking across. Listen to his worries. Talk through his struggles. Treat him with the respect he deserves.

… God, I sound like Elias.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Letter from one  _ Albrecht von Closen _ regarding a burial monument found on the lake island in his estate. Letter found in a section of the Records detailing the Sanctuary's founding, dating March 31st 1816. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, head Record Keeper of the Magnus Sanctuary, London.

Letter begins.

**KEEPER (INTERVIEW)**

My dearest Jonah,

Forgive me for writing this letter so soon after the last. You must think me truly foolish for spending so much time writing to you, but I find it calms my nerves, ever so frayed by the king's latest exploits. In any case, I recall you recently expressing your interest in the esoteric and the fair.y-story, the benign aspects of folktale so rarely told in these times, and simply put… I believe that I too have come into contact with such beings. You see, I have had an encounter that cannot be described as anything short of a  _ religious  _ experience. I pray to whatever god might watch over us, that I shall meet it again.

I am sure you wish me to hurry on to the heart of the matter, and I assure you that I will in due time, but I believe it would be best if I first began the tale shortly before the thing began, with my travels down to Württemberg. My family has a small estate there, in the heart of the Inselwald- what you would call the Island Forest- near a small town by the name of Schramberg. This estate belonged to a half-brother of mine, estranged from the family when he was young, yet still willing to share it with me. I think it best that his name not be shared here.

As it turns out, his son also resided in the estate, attended to by a number of caretakers, but with no family to speak of. The boy, Wilhelm, was little more than sixteen, and we have done our best to provide him the familial connections we can. It has always been my belief that everyone needs a semblance of people like those in their childhood, even if they never take their leave of the place that they lived it in. So I and my wife Carla took leave of our home, attempting to make our way there in the summer months, before the usual troubles of the autumn and winter weather could impede our journey.

You have never known a summer day in the Island Forests have you? I know you will say you have islands and summers in England- after all, the whole of your nation is an island- but the shack-sized pinches of land in your pond-sized lakes cannot be made to compare to the beautiful  _ drowned hills _ of Germany. The sun shining down onto the grass, grass so green that to simply call it the color seems somehow inadequate. And the delightful noise, the music and melody of birdsong, the crunching of leaves as the fauna feast on flora, with nary a predator to be seen in sight on such a piece of land cut off from the lakeside shores. Did you know, the German Elk can be known to outswim a man with great ease? You would know, had you spent a day sitting on the doorstep of an Inselwald Cottage.

We discovered upon our arrival that our dear Wilhelm was enjoying quite good health, even in spite of my late brother's absence. All the same, our appearance brightened his mood to such a degree that I would surely make the journey a thousand times, merely to see my nephew smile such as he did again. We agreed to stay there for a time, returning home before the winter months took hold of the roads and the sky. Given the fair summer weather, the dense population of elks, and the presence of boats to ferry people across- should the bridge to the estate go down- I decided to begin sailing through the three islands that existed within the great lake, and perhaps go hunting along the way.

It was on one of these hunts, some months into our stay, that I came upon that ancient burial mound.

It stood alone, in the middle of an open clearing, a beautiful statue sunken ever so slightly into the damp earth. At first I thought it to be a simple statue, perhaps celebrating some long-forgotten governor of the region, until I saw the name etched into the base, “ _Demuth auf Württemberg”,_ above a birth and death date so weathered and worn and sunken into the dirt, that only the birth year could be made out: 1255. The statue stood a proud six feet above the ground, including the base and its inscription, although it may very well have once stood much taller. I looked up upon the statue itself, and I must admit, it was almost mythical in nature. The woman it depicted appeared blindfolded, and wore a kind of _headscarf,_ rarely seen in this land. She smiled, as though amused by a kept secret she had no intent to share. And at her side, she held a thick, stone-wrought tome. And, this is a detail that I note with some measure of disappointment in herself, the woman had shoulders as broad as my very own, a curious thing.

Upon admiring the excellent craftsmanship on the stone, a thought occurred to me. If this woman- whose name I had never heard- was deserving of a burial mound of such grandeur… What was the use in placing it on an island inaccessible from the shore, buried deep in the Inselwald? Why create such an incredible work of art, if one intended to hide it from the world? Unfortunately, I had no time to investigate further, as I realized that the sun had begun to set. I would have to sail back home in the comfy little boat post haste, were I to have the light to guide my way back to the shore. 

I asked Wilhelm that evening over dinner whether he had ever heard of Demuth, or was aware of her statue on the island north of his own. He told me no to both- He had neglected to explore the other islands on the lake, let alone in the detail I had. He rarely spent time outside in fact, electing to read his books in peace within the house. And he had never heard of this “Demuth”, either. I made some inquiries as to the local history of the area but, as is so often the case in this era, the history had been buried long ago.

Nothing else of note occurred that night, and so, making my apologies the next morning, I headed out early towards the burial mound. For some odd reason, I made no attempt to tell the others of the house where I was going. Inexplicably, I thought that it would be best if I went to the spot alone, with my thoughts. So alone I went to that subtly sacred place, sailing down to the shore as the morning sun shone down on the lake.

The statue looked exactly as I had left it, if not for the sunlight now illuminating it’s every etching. It was beautiful, and serene, and content, and I noticed now that the birdsong seemed louder here. That could not have been possible, of course: The lack of foliage should’ve stifled their call, not made it louder. Perhaps it was some odd acoustic, but its ever-presence seemed to drown out all else as surely as the gentle roar of a waterfall. Two men could speak face to face within this clearing, and the magical song of the birds around them would prevent them from hearing a single word. I began t-

[Knocking at the door]

**KEEPER**

… Who is it?

[Silence]

… Sasha if you’re trying to scare me with the airhorn it won’t work twice.

[Silence]

… Tim?

[Silence]

Martin, is that you?

**MARTIN**

… Yeah.

**KEEPER**

Oh thank god. Come in, the door’s unlocked.

[The door opens.]

Hello!

**MARTIN**

Hey, Jon.

**KEEPER**

… You’re looking well, all things considered! It’s a wonder what a week of rest will do for you, I suppose.

**MARTIN**

Guess so! Heh.

Hey uhm. I wanted to kind of. Thank you for something, I guess, I dunno. It’s silly, really.

**KEEPER**

Nothing’s silly, Martin. Not when you say it.

[Awkward silence.]

Because there’s no silly ideas here, of course, I mean. I’m doing what Elias has been saying. Fostering an open work environment, and all that.

**MARTIN**

Right! Yeah, heheh.

Anyway. I just wanted to thank you. For… For saying I’m not a bother. And also, letting me sleep in your office. But I just… I dunno it helped a bit. I guess.

**KEEPER**

You’re welcome.

… You know I’m not just saying that, right, Martin? You really are a treasure to have on staff. You get your work done, you do all this and that, and… I don’t know, if there’s anything I can get you, tea or something of that nature-

**MARTIN**

_ (Quietly)  _ Thank you, Jon.

  
**KEEPER**

… Martin, I know you’re sick, but... may I hug you?

**MARTIN**

Yes please.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

**KEEPER**

Interview resumes.

**KEEPER (INTERVIEW)**

I began to sit down, though Jonah, I could not tell you why. It was not as though I could get a better look at the statue from such a low angle. But as soon as I had sat myself down at the base of this statue, I… Well, I began to pour out my heart to it.

I could barely even hear the words I said, over the aforementioned roar of birdsong. Each word I said was drowned out by the cacophony around me, but I knew what I spoke of. I spoke about my father’s mistreatment of myself and my estranged brother, my mother’s bouts of great sadness, and the fact that they had seemed to pass to me. My fear that I would let down my dear wife, Carla, that I would fail to keep our estate the home that she needed. My dissatisfaction, my guilt, my fear, my sadness, and then… Then my hopes. My dreams. My joys. Things I have not shared, not even with Carla… But things that I felt so glad to share. I was… Happy. 

I sat in that clearing for what I would swear to be hours. My deepest secrets out, for no one to hear. And then, without a word, I looked up… and saw the statue… nod. Believe this to be true or false, Jonah, but I swear to you that it is what happened. She nodded, smiled wider, and then… I suppose as a show of trust in me, the man who had stepped into her domain unannounced, selfishly stealing away her time and her stonewrought ear... shared a secret with me. A secret about who she was, who she used to call herself. And that, Jonah, is a secret I am not certain I can share with you I’m afraid.

She trusted me, as a Caring Listener. She's keeping the truths I hold most dear hidden, and I will do the same.

Yours in trust,

Albrecht.

**KEEPER**

Letter ends.

I’ve done some research, and while the name Württemberg does in fact have historical precedent, no woman of the name Demuth appear in their family line. Although that said, Demuth’s supposed birth year of “1255” lines up with that of one “Johann von Württemberg”, a disgraced heir to the throne of Ulrich I, which… While an interesting coincidence… likely bears no correlation.

I could find little else on this, except for the fact that- if a note appended to this file is to be believed- someone in this letter is the ancestor of a miss "Mary." Ahem:

_ "I found another story with grandpappy in it, my Little Robin. I thought you might like to read it. See you soon. Mary." _

And that ends this letter, I suppose.

… I'm going to go make Martin tea.

[30 solid seconds of silence.]

Oh, damnit, end recording.

[CLICK]

**Author's Note:**

> GOD THIS TOOK. SO LONG. AND I AM SO SORRY.
> 
> I HOPE THIS IS. OKAY. THERES ALSO MORE JONMARTIN FLUFF THIS TIME AROUND, I GUESS.
> 
> ANYWAY HAPPY READING, IM OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS FOR EDITS, AAAAAAAAAAA.


End file.
